A Song Birds Strife
by Rammy-x
Summary: Sansa was gifted a diary a long time ago. She writes what she feels, good and bad, and then hides it, so only she can look upon the pages. But the Hound is very observant, and has no issues reading the Little Bird's book. Rated M for strong content in chapter 2. Lots of fluff throughout.
1. As the Birds Sing

I wrote this in the midst of a 10 hour marathon of AWOLnation's "Sail"  
I love San/San fics, and wanted to write one.  
This is just a short two-shot (For now) I do not plan to continue this particular fic past the two chapters. But you just never know what will happen when the flow hits you! (:  
Above all, I Hope you all enjoy!

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Sansa sat at the round table near her open window. A book with a mass of blank pages that Old Nan had given her long ago opened in front of her, her quill tip scratching the pages as she wrote. When Old Nan had given her the book Sansa had asked her "What use is a book you cannot read? What a waste of pages to be bound with no words upon them." Old Nan had quieted her with one simple response that had stuck with Sansa this whole time, "A book with blank pages offers you a chance to write a story of your own. A story of brave knights and fair maidens; or just a comforting place to share your thoughts with no one there to laugh or reprimand. You can look back into it's pages as you go and notice how much you have grown."

She was only eight when she received it as a nameday gift, and so the first pages are littered with a few doodles and more than a few "I Hate Arya"'s. But as she grew older, the pages gained more sustenance. More feelings shared of her duties, and her yearning for a handsome Prince to come sweep her away, marrying him, and birthing his round cheeked babes for her to dote over and love. Sansa found it easier to let her words flow through her hands if the page was penned to Old Nan, who passed not long after Bran was crippled. The book was one of the few things she brought with her to Kings Landing, as it was close to her heart, and she had hoped to fill it with all the beautiful notions she had about the Prince and their soon to be marriage.

She was now filling it with all the things she hated about the place. All the people she hated from the place. And all of how she felt cheated out of her happy life as a Queen.

Today and for many days before, she is writing of one she notices more and more often since her arrival in Kings Landing.

_Nan,_

_Life in Kings Landing is not nearly as I had hoped. My tongue hurts from how often I have to bite down on it to keep my treasonous words from spilling over and losing my head. The King is vile, crude, and mean. He hates me for things that my father has said. Things that my brother has done. I want to stay strong, but it is so hard to continue with your head held high when so many are swinging for your brow. I stay quiet and do as I am bid. I try to smile, but when the King lives to hear your sobs, that too is hard to hold. Shae, my newer handmaiden, tells me to stay strong. That not all of the Capitol hates me; That some look up to me. But sometimes it is not a believable notion. She assures me that not all Lannisters are vile. There's no doubt the Queen hates me. She's made that very clear since that day on the Kings road when Nymiria injured the King. As if it was my fault that he got cocky with his power. And poor Lady. I think of her still. She was so sweet and loving, and they made father kill her for her sisters' crimes. I would never tell anyone, Nan, but I felt bad for Mycah, the butchers boy. He really did nothing wrong. It was the dolt king who challenged a boy with a wooden sword to a duel. I dwell on this often. Maybe if I had spoken then, I would have been left in Winterfell. And maybe if I had made enough of a ruckus, late King Robert would have changed his mind and left father there. I feel as if this is all my fault. I should have done more. But when the Lannisters want something they stop at nothing till they have it. But so little could be done by a little bird whose wings are too weary to carry her own self. _

_Little Bird. That's what Sandor calls me. It started as a quip from the Queens own lips. To jest that I was nothing but a little dove. Too weak to do anything but carry on. Too small to even stand up for myself. But the Kings Hound turned it into something more. A term of endearment. He still scares me. But only sometimes. Mainly when he is drunk and his temper has no leash. His face surprised me back in Winterfell. Before this whole nightmare began. But only because I had only heard stories before then. I had no knowledge of how badly marred his face was. I think he is very handsome, and I no longer see the scars. They were not his by choice, or even due to a heroic battle he fought; but due to the cruelty of his brother. I often wonder what he thinks of me. But quickly dismiss it. No man so strong and courageous and brave could love a meek naive little child like myself. He probably thinks of me as nothing more than another woman he is bade to watch. Like a little baby, I have to be watched. Still, when I see him, I smile. Hoping that maybe he does think of me. Not that I would ever have a chance to get close to him. He is the Kings Hound. If he was to reveal any feeling towards the Kings betrothed, they would have both of our heads. But still I hope to even have a conversation with him. He is so intelligent, and funny. His humour is often cruel and makes me flush red, but sometimes he is genuinely funny. With jests of the fool women around, clucking like hens. That is really the only safe topic to discuss. No mention of the fool king or his Queen mother, but of the foolish townspeople. He brings my food to me in my chambers, and on very rare occasions will sit and have a piece of bread with me while he waits for me to finish my meal, and return to his duties. Oh, Old Nan, you would have no idea how much my heart yearns of him. I yearn for him now, as I once did for the then fool Prince. But over time the Kings good intentions faded and faltered, where as Sandor's have never once. He says what he thinks, and never makes a pause to correct for ones feelings. But he never is cruel to _me. _He has had moments where he was overly aggressive towards me, solely based off of my ignorance, and sometimes when he has had too much wine. But he has never been cruel. Never has he forced me to watch my own fathers execution, or pointed a crossbow at me, or even raised his hand to me. He is so gallant, so much more than the fool king. _  
_Old Nan, I think I may be in love. Unfortunately, it is not with whom I am betrothed._

Sansa sat straight up and placed a kerchief in the book to mark her page. It happened to be the same kerchief that the Hound had cleaned her face with so long ago, when she had only been in Kings Landing for a short while. She had kept it all this time.

She slid the marked book under her pillow, not noticing that the edge poked out from under the sham. Sansa fixed her shifted locks back into the braid that spun around the back of her head and pinned into place. She faked a smile of confidence in the small mirror above a vanity. She gathered the skirts of her lilac purple dress and headed for the door of her chambers. Maybe Shae fancied a walk through the gardens before supper.

-  
I know it's short. I tried to keep loyal to the way Sansa thinks and acts. I hope I didn't stray too far. (: I hope you all enjoyed this, and I will be putting part 2 up soon!  
-Rammy.


	2. Sing to Me

'Ello, Dearies! I like the dynamic that is Sandor Clegane. He could be a ruthless killer one moment, a belligerent drunk the next, and still be a caring person five minutes later. I just... I just love it!

Does this chapter seem a little fruity to you?  
I think I am definitely sensing some extra **citrus** in this chapter.  
So I beg of you, if you were here thinking there would only be fluff, you were misled. I sincerely hope if you are going to read this chapter, prepare yourself for that. Will still have fluff at the end. (:  
Other than that little side note, I bid you happy reading!

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Iron clad and sounding like a storm, Sandor Clegane "The Hound" climbed the steps to Sansa Stark's bed chambers in full armor.

"This girl will be the death of me." He huffed under his breath, carrying a tray piled with fruits and a few pieces of chicken. A smaller covered tray on this one held a few of the girls favorite sweets for dessert. It was by her luck that the kitchen maids made her platter up, and not the Queen. There would be the flat, dry cranberry cakes that she hated so much instead of the smooth lemon ones she adored. A skin of water bumped and bounced against his side, for she hated wine.

Sandor stopped in front of her wooden door and pounded one fist on it briefly. "Little Bird," He cooed mockingly, "Your supper is ready."

He waited for a moment and knocked again. "Little Bird." But still no one came to the door.

"Girl! Open up!" But after another moment of silence, the Hound pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder to find the room empty. "Dammit, Girl" He breathed as he set the platter down onto the little round table by the open window and bent down to pick up the gowns and the shifts Sansa had left on the floor. "Isn't this what Handmaidens are for?" He growled. His arms were full of discarded clothing by the time the floor was visible. He piled these in a heap by the door for the wash. As the Hound walked back to the table he noticed a small book just barely visible under her pillow.

"Ahh, what does the Little Bird read that is so interesting she must hide it?" Sandor chuckled to himself, pulling the book out of its hiding place. It had a bound cover, but nothing inscribed as a title. Flipping open the front cover it only had the Little Birds name in her hand written there. Sandor flipped to the next page to find a not very nice poem about the littlest she-wolf in a child's writing. He chuckled lightly and set the diary onto the table next to the supper platter. Sandor decided to wait for the girl to return so she could have some company while she ate. He quite enjoyed her company. As the old Dog sat back into Sansa's chair next to the window, he ran his hands through his long hair, making sure the right side of his face was covered; Not wanting to set the poor girl off her dinner. He leaned back in the chair making it creak.

When he opened his eyes he seen the curious marker she put about halfway into the book; It was his kerchief. He knew it was his only by the small yellow crest with the three hounds embroidered on the corner. Curious as to why the girl would choose to keep something so old and tattered from a man who frightened her, Sandor picked the book back up and let it fall open to the marked page. His eyes scanned the page. He was not a high born lord, and was never taught to read proper, but he knew his own name when he seen it. And it seemed the whole of the second page was about him. About his great ability to scare and intimidate, about his scarred face, but most of all how the Little Bird felt for him. So the dear thing wasn't as afraid of him as he had originally thought. He was glad for that. But when he set the book back down with the kerchief in its same place, there was no smile on his face. You couldn't even see the relief that his Little Bird was not as terrified in his presence as everyone had presumed. He sat there in Sansa's chair, staring at the open door, waiting.

Not too long after Sandor had set the book back down, he heard the chattering of a couple of woman coming up the corridor. All the other Lords and Ladies of the castle were in the banquet hall having supper, and since Sansa had been made a fool and nearly stripped in front of many of the castle, she took her meals in her bed chambers. The Hound knew who would be traveling this corridor so early in the evening. Soon Sansa and Shae rounded the corner and walked into the room.

"Oh! Lord Clegane, here for-..." The Little Birds words fell short when she saw his serious face, and then the book set next to him.

"Shae?" She asked after she found her voice again, "Would you mind taking your supper in the kitchens with the other handmaidens tonight? I have something I would like to discuss with Lord Clegane." Sansa clenched her fist tight around the handful of skirt she held.

"Of course, my Lady. Do you fancy me coming back later to ready you for bed?" Sansa only shook her head. Fury turned her face red as she stared at Sandor. Shae only curtsied and left the room, closing the door behind her. Shae never made mention that she knew how Sansa felt about the Hound. Just as Sansa knew about her and Tyrion. It was understood, but never spoken. Both would hang if word of either got out.

As the heavy door swung closed behind the beautiful handmaiden Sandor stood, his armor clanging.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Sansa shouted bringing her fist down upon the Hounds breastplate. She made no noise, but Sandor knew it had hurt her, for she cradled the throbbing hand to her chest. "How dare YOU read _my_ journal!" she shouted again.

The Hound picked the book up and waved it at Sansa. "You do realize that many of the things you have written in this little book could get you hanged? Could get _me _hanged." He said, his voice calm, but his face a storm of emotions.

Sansa fell to her knees at that. Sobbing, she wiped at her face. "It's my journal," She whispered, her voice only cracking slightly. "You had no right to read it!"

"But I would say you're damned lucky that I found the fucking thing and not the Queen." He snarled in a low voice; No one was near, but he took precaution when talking about the Queen. "Did you mean it?" He asked, "What you wrote?" The Hounds grey eyes seemed to darken at the question he asked.

Sansa looked up into his eyes. "Yes, o-of course. Every word." She stammered. Sandor held a hand out to her, to help her up. "I'm sorry, my Lord. You're right, I should have never written this." She straightened her back, and reached for the small book in Sandor's hand. "I'll burn the pages, and there won't be any harm done."

But Sandor pulled it from her reach and tossed it across the room. It skittered to a stop halfway under her vanity. "If I am going to die for something I didn't do, I might as well do it anyway."

Sansa did not know what he meant until he pulled her to him. She had to hold her head back to be able to see him, he towered so far over her. He leaned in. Inches from Sansa's face, his breath smelled of wine. Not heavily so, but enough that a young woman who didn't even like the drink thirsted for a taste. Sansa closed the gap between them, pushing her body against Sandor's armor, and crushing her lips to his. Their mouths moved together that way for a while. The Hound picked Sansa up by her waist and moved her away from the table, towards the bed. Setting her down on the edge, he took a step back unbelting his chest plate and pulling his sleeved armor off of his shoulders. His leg guards soon hit the floor too. Sansa sat there, taking it all in. She had never had a man before, and now she was about to have the one she longed for most.

A blush rose high into her cheeks as Sandor stepped closer again, leaning down once more to place a kiss on Sansa's lips. She kissed him back passionately, and reached forward to unlace his breeches. She pulled them down around his ankles and let him step out of them,leaving only his small clothes to cover his modesty.

Sandor looked straight into Sansa's beautiful face. "I don't want to tear your beautiful gown, Little Bird, would you mind if I helped you out of it?" She smiled and stood, turning so he could unlace the back of her dress. As it fell in a pool around her feet, Sandor almost had to gasp for air at her creamy pallor. How delicate she looked.

He started pulling pins from her hair, letting strand after strand fall over her back and shoulders. He ran his fingers through her fire hair, and smiled. "You are the only fire I would ever touch again." Sansa turned in his arms, smiling. She reached for the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head, leaving his chest bare. She ran her hand over the course black hair that grew there. When Sansa looked up into his eyes again she noticed the shirt had pulled his shoulder length curls to the left, exposing his scars. Without thinking, Sansa reached forward and passed the back of her hand over the rough skin. Sandor tried to turn his head away, but Sansa stopped him, and reached again to caress his skin. Sandor sighed a heavy breath. "How appropriate should it be you that can look me in the face without fear or disgust. How appropriate should it be you that I fall hopelessly for, but should not have you. The most delicate Little Bird to fly into Kings Landing." He reached up to her face and stroked her cheek as well. Slowly down her neck to her shoulder. He pushed Sansa's shift off of her sharp shoulder, and let his free hand do the same to her other sleeve. Her shift too fell the the ground in a puddle around her feet. Her breasts exposed to him for the first time. He no longer need to daydream about how his Little Bird looked under her pretty dresses; And how the sight was so much better than his dreams.

Without waiting another moment, the Hound picked his Bird off of her feet and layed her back onto her pillows. He pulled his small clothes off before he climbed onto the bed before her. Seeing how large he truly was, Sansa whimpered, not wanting to be hurt. "Go slow, my Lord, I am still new."

"I need not remind you, Little Bird, I am no lord. But aye, girl. I will be gentle." He pushed her legs up and pushed his way inside of her.

He was gentle. But he did not stop when she yelped in surprise. He remained slow, and reserved until Sansa was more comfortable. She leaned forward and moved to be on his lap, pushing his head onto her pillows.

Sitting back and rolling her hips, Sansa let several moans escape her lips. It only drove the Hound even more mad with her. He was absolutely intoxicated with her. He reached and caressed her breasts; Tweaking her swelled nipples elicited another moan from her. Hands trailed from breasts to hips and from hips to thighs, Sandor could not get enough of his Little Bird. Her porcelain skin glistening with sweat. He pulled himself onto his elbows and leaned in, nibbling on her neck and on her ear lobe; hands still stroking her legs.

"You _dog_." She breathed into his ear, her voice raspy. All he could do was smile into her neck. The Hound traced the tip of his tongue down her long neck to her collar bone and back again, and then brought his lips to hers as she finally climaxed, shuddering. Rolling her hips into him a few more times. His kiss muffled the moan that almost escaped her.

Panting, Sansa rolled off of her lover and onto the pelts on the bed. She pulled herself to his side resting her head onto his shoulder, hand on his chest. "For someone who was new," the Hound breathed, "You are a quick learner."

"Only because you are a good teacher." Sansa smiled pressing her lips to his shoulder. Looking at him in this light, Sansa could see many other scars crossing the Hounds skin. She traced her fingers over a few, and Sandor shivered.

"Come with me." He said. He placed his hand on top of hers over his heart.

"What are you talking about?" Sansa sounded alarmed. She did not want her perfect dream to end so quickly. How foolish of her to think it could stay this way.

"I cannot stay here. And neither should you. Stannis Baratheon sails for our shores, and should be here in less than a fortnight." He sighed.

"But if Stannis took over Kings Landing, he would surely take me home?" Sansa tittered.

"If Stannis did take Kings Landing, he may have mercy on you, and take you home. But only if he finds you before his men. They will not. They would rape you, and hurt you, and when you thought you could take no more, they would toss you to the dogs. And if, Gods forbid, Stannis could not take hold of Kings Landing, you would be left here to deal with the idiot King Joffrey and the cruel Queen. And Somehow I feel that, to you, my Little Bird, would be worse than death.

"So come with me. We could make our home in the woods somewhere. Or in a village far from here. You could still be the Lady you are. I would dress you in the finest yellow silks, just so that the sun would rise and set on your shoulders. I would pin your hair in braids as intricate as the wild branches on the trees. And we could enjoy a free life with our babes tottering about at our feet.

"But I do not want to leave you here with these cruel people, who only want to break your spirit. You are a woman with fire in your heart, you should be able to speak your mind without reprimand, and be treated with respect." His speech had brought tears to Sansa's eyes, but he was not done. "A place where you are not a traitor, and can mourn your father in peace." By now she was sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

"I am leaving. No more battle fire will scar me." Sandor gripped her delicate hands in his calloused ones, "Will you come with me, my Love. Will you come with me and be my Little Bird forever?"

Tears spattering down her cheeks and onto her still bare chest as she sat up, all Sansa could to was nod.

He crushed his lips to hers once more.  
But it was time for the Song Bird of the north to stretch her wings, and take flight.

* * *

Soo... I guess that was less of a citrus and more of an overripe lemon. But please don't bash me too terribly; for that was my first time writing anything close to a lemon. :3  
I know I made Sansa fluffier in her thoughts in the beginning. But I wanted it to be her escape. Where she had to be tough and wear a mask all the time, but was free the be innocent in her thoughts.

I also know I wrote Sandor as a total softy at the end. But I wanted to convey how much he actually cared about her.


End file.
